As Dignified and Graceful as a Train Wreck
by Hot Noodle
Summary: in·fat·u·a·tion (ĭ-făch′o o -ā′shən) 1. A foolish, unreasoning, or extravagant passion or attraction. / A Silly little story cooked up by a prompt, Festering in a questionable AU, and shamed with the lack of a Beta Reader. Good Luck.


Larry wasn't sure what to think of him. Dell, according to the name he was given to scrawl, albeit messily, across the side of his Styrofoam cup. One coffee, two cream and three sugar. The barista couldn't help but remember the man's order, for two reasons; The fact that Dell came in and ordered the same thing every day, or that the man was just too noticeable- in a personal sense, at least -to forget anything about.

To anyone, Dell looked like half of the population of people who came in for coffee. But there was something about his dress shirt, tie, slacks and the rest that just seemed so foreign on the short man. His hand looked uncomfortable, clutched around his work briefcase, the knot in his tie always crooked, the side of the lean differing from day to day. Larry considered himself a good judge of character, and from what he observed while watching the man wait patiently for his morning coffee, He had come to the conclusion that whatever Dell's job was, it didn't suit him. Not at all. But that wasn't _his_ job. _His_ job was to make coffee, wash up, and make sure the place didn't go down the drain. He wasn't there to peer at the man from behind a porcelain cup, judging his every move like some weird teen-trash movie pervert. Not that he thought anything bad of Dell. He questioned his ability to think up anything wrong with the man, from what he could see. He was just perfect.

He was aging, sure, but so was Larry, and while the small lines of age did nothing but make the Australian look like a sack of potatoes, they somehow added character to Dell. Charm, even. It made his face seem more sincere, smile more genuinely happy than out of politeness. Perfect. More than perfect. But maybe that was just what Larry hoped. Considering the fact that he had become unquestionably infatuated with the man the second he laid his eyes on him. But he ignored it, except when he didn't. That stupid thing called love wasn't part of his job, except when it was. Besides, it was probably just the whole living alone thing getting to him, Unless It wasn't. He kind of hoped it wasn't

But, no matter the undignified sense of unnaturalness that crept up on him when he thought about it, Larry ended up going through the same routine of waking up, thinking about Dell, Walking to work, thinking about Dell, Opening the shop, thinking about Dell, serving customers, thinking about Dell, Seeing Dell, thinking about Dell, Going home, thinking about Dell, Falling asleep, dreaming about Dell, and so on and so on. He even started, aware of it or not, mapping out Dell's work hours. He came in slightly earlier on Wednesdays, Later on Saturdays. He didn't come in at all on Sunday or Monday. But, on Friday, He would come in with the same perfect book, order the same perfect coffee (Yes he was flattering himself, working 5 to 4 everyday you best believe he deserved it) , with the same perfect everything, and sit there, peacefully reading for hours.

Fridays were Larry's favourite, of course. He could watch him for ages, the way his brow creased slightly as he quickly skimmed through pages. It was always the same book, and Larry could've sworn he had seen Dell finish it at least three times now. A Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe. Larry had his own copy of the book sitting on his coffee table at home, the complicated phrasing of the stories failing to capture his attention, much to his dismay. He thought- no, hoped –that he could use that book. Use it to start up a conversation with the man, just casually point out A Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe and say "Hey, I have A Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe as well! Great book, isn't it?" and he might say either "Yes of course The Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe is a great book do you want to go on date?" Or, the more viable option of "What no go away." Of course, The Australian was aware that the first option would only happen in his dreams, as it had many, many times before, but that was beside the point.

Funny thing was, He had only heard the man order coffee. That was it. "Two cream, three sugar." Or "the usual.". Of course, the mandatory "please" and "thank you" was said, but it wasn't enough. He didn't even know his name. Dell had never bothered to look up, just a little, and read the nametag pinned to the Baristas shirt. Larry. That's all he wanted to hear Dell say. "Thanks, _Larry_." Or "the usual, _Larry_." Maybe a "Well what do you know, I love you too _Larry!_" But, of course, it didn't happen. And just when he thought he had come to terms with the fact that the perfect man by the name of Dell Something-surely-beautiful was a lost cause, the second Friday of October rolled around.

Dell didn't order that day. Not immediately. He just went to his usual table, the one with the most sunlight, and sat for moment. His hands were clasped together on the shabby oak table. His perfect smile was missing. His perfect book, gone. He didn't have his coffee yet either. Larry, of course, cocked his head at the scene unfolding in front of him, peering out from between two latte machines. And then he did the only thing he could do. He waited. And waited. And waited. And waited and waited and waited and waited. Dell still hadn't moved. Then, of course, Larry looked up at the clock and realized only two minutes had passed.

Time didn't matter, though, even though it really did. The Australian bit down, albeit lightly, on his right thumb nail, an old nervous habit bubbling its way back to the service as he contemplated just leaving the man be. Of course, his own stupid brain got the better of him and he made a coffee, for no one but Dell, and wrote on the side of the cup with a black Sharpie In loopy, dishevelled lettering. He wondered if "You alright?" Was too short for any sort of message, he wondered if he would come off creepy, he wondered if he might just plain scare the man away from the whole coffee shop.

He told his waitress, Who refused to go by any name other than Mel, not to let him decline the drink. Just to go up and give it to him, tell him it was from the bloke behind the counter, and leave. That's all he wanted. She questioned him, but he managed to shush her with a slight push out from behind the counter. "Just do this for me, alright? This one thing?" He said, keeping his voice low enough not to attract the attention of Dell.

"Fine. I'm not doing this for free, though." She replied, sighing as she walked up to the lone man. Larry watched as Mel put the coffee in front of him, the sudden appearance of the drink almost shaking him out of whatever daze he seemed to have been in. He sat up straighter, giving her a questioning look. A few words were said, nothing that Larry could hear, but from the somewhat vague gesture the waitress gave towards Jack he assumed she had gotten the point across well enough. The shorter man cocked an eyebrow, looking over at Larry as Mel walked away. The Australian fought the urge to duck down behind the counter and instead sent a small, borderline pitiful wave to Dell. The shorter man returned it, sort of, lifting his hand slightly and giving Larry an unsure look.

In other words, it worked. The stupid, pitiful two-word excuse for a message had _worked. _And now, after all this time, Dell was standing, looking Larry right in the eye, and walking over to the counter with Much more meaning than to ask for another stupid coffee.

Larry wanted to run away and leave town forever, but also stay and talk to this man, and know this man, and have him in his life because… Well that's what he wanted, right? All this time? This was his chance, after all. _Dell _was coming to _him. _Sure, the quizzical expression on the shorter man's face didn't help the situation nor the growing anxiety eating away at Larry, but hey, when life gives you lemons…? No, that wasn't right. Either way, Dell was at the counter, the cup in hand, and he was looking directly into Larry's eyes. Dell cocked his eyebrow, tilting the cup slightly. To anyone who wasn't in the midst of a spontaneous emotional turmoil, the gesture would clearly be interpreted as a question, like "What's up with the cup?" not "What's wrong with you you stupid freak." Like The barista was imagining.

But, after a few seconds of awkward silence, The taller man finally managed to sputter out a few words. "Uh, I, um… Sorry…?'

He'd never felt more stupid.


End file.
